After last month's disasterous attempts to reach Britain's first offshore off-licence was aborted because of bad weather, Neil Hunter vowed he would try again. Here's how he got on yesterday.

IT was one of those shopping trips from hell. You know the kind, you spend all day trailing around the stores in stifling heat and come back empty-handed.

Yesterday, we spent six hours sailing around the shores in that kind of heat and came back empty-handed.

Well, not quite.

We pulled up at the quay with a few things from the floating off-licence, but promptly had them confiscated by Customs and Excise officials.

It was more like trekking around the shops and finally finding just the shirt you were looking for, and then leaving your bag on the bus. It was like getting home to find you had been pick-pocketed.

Having said that, it was obvious from quite early on in yesterday's journey that we might run into a bit of bother.

It was not of the kind that blighted last month's attempts to reach the "baccy boat", moored 13 miles off the North-East coast.

There were no gale force winds, mountainous seas or bouts of seasickness to overcome.

Indeed, the sea could not have been calmer, nor the sun brighter, as we left the Headland at Hartlepool in the fishing boat Geronimo.

The real fear was the threat the Government posed to our cut-price shopping expedition.

Within an hour or so of setting off, a Customs ship, the Valiant, came into view.

It transpired Valiant and its crew of six has been there since the 50ft Cornish Maiden and its stock of cigarettes and alcohol arrived on Saturday evening.

As Geronimo passed on its way to the Cornish Maiden, officials with binoculars were keen to get a look at those of us on board.

Half-an-hour later, just beyond the 12.5-mile international water line, we were alongside the former fishing boat and boarding to examine its bounty.

We were greeted by Trevor Lyons, one half of the partnership, and treated to a beer "bought in France and duty-paid".

A small rigid inflatable that had been making great haste towards us was assumed to be Customs, but turned out to be Mr Lyons' business partner, and the brains behind the venture, Philip Berriman, along with his son, Phil.

During our stay on board, the Customs ship approached and circled, creating a wash that sent Geronimo crashing into Cornish Maiden.

"This is sheer intimidation," says Mr Lyons, a lecturer in marine law, who is convinced what he and Mr Berriman are doing is legitimate.

Mr Lyons, 54, a tall, slim, bespectacled and quietly-spoken man, decides he is having none of it, and makes radio contact with Valiant.

"We notice you are circling us," he says. "Can we help you in any way?"

"Negative," is the reply.

"Is there anything you want from us?" he asks.

"Negative," is the reply, in what Mr Lyons called a "very unfriendly voice".

"They are there because they have to be seen to be doing something," Mr Lyons told us. "I doubt they will move until we do."

Mr Lyons and Mr Berriman are equally scathing about the way their business is being hampered by the Government and are adamant they have found a loophole in the law that makes their venture legal.

"All we are doing is offering a service which is, effectively, available to people in Kent and the South-East," said Mr Lyons, from Staffordshire. "People up here cannot nip to a French supermarket to stock up, so we are bringing the stock to them.

"But we have this absurd situation where you have people in the richest part of the UK, who are able to get cheap booze and fags, and people in one of the poorest, in the North-East, who have to pay full-whack."

Mr Berriman, 46, from Norton, near Stockton, said: "It annoys me that the working-class people of places like the North-East are being priced out of simple vices."

After spending a few of our hard-earned pounds on those simple vices of cigarettes and alcohol, we set off on the return leg.

Shortly after passing the Customs ship, a rigid inflatable dinghy was despatched, which tailed us for two hours into the harbour.

There, three Customs officials boarded Geronimo, searched some belongings and uttered those words: "Anything to declare?"

A one-litre bottle of gin (priced £7) and 200 cigarettes (price £18) were duly declared.

The choice was to pay the additional duty (£9 on the Gordons gin and £35.71 on the Marlboro cigarettes) or have them seized.

The extra duty would have made them the same price as back home, so it did not seem worth it, and they were grudgingly handed over.

One of the party managed to smuggle a carton of cigarettes ashore, so it was worthwhile for them.

As for shopping ...

I'd still rather sail than trail. If only Customs and Excise could understand.